Doesn't Matter What You're Looking For
by fangirlgonewild
Summary: Spoilers through 1.21 - "Isobel," companion piece to 'I Wake Up Exhausted.' Damon has some thinking of his own to do. Rating for language.


Damon ends up at her house, sometimes.

Getting into places has always been something of a game; the line between what _needs_ an invitation and what _constitutes_ an invitation is more than a little fuzzy. And he's been around long enough to know all the tricks.

So, when playing deliveryman and little boy lost got old, he moved on to more elaborate schemes. He's a consummate seducer because he's a good liar, which means using tiny amounts of the truth to your advantage until you get what you want. Elena wanted a low-key night with her new boyfriend and her friends, so of course she let in her sort-of-slutty-friend's-new-boy-toy-slash-Stefan's-estranged-brother with a casual eye roll and a "whatever, come on in."

Not much of welcome, he knew, but it counted for enough to get him through the door. Enough to put him in a position to drip poisonous words about the _beautiful_ and _sexy_ woman of his brother's past in her ear. Damon hadn't counted on her heartfelt sympathy dripping into his.

That was why he came back, the first time. No agenda in hand, just legitimate curiosity. He'd sat by her side and watched over her dreams…and read her journal, because even without a sinister plot, he's much more sinner than saint.

Tonight, he's not interested in going inside. Damon needs to clear his head, and this is not the place to do it. He's here for a quick stop-by only. Just to check up on things. He sits on the stone wall bordering the lawn across the street, looking up at her window.

_Because he's in love with you_.

The words ring in his ears. That bitch said it so matter-of-factly, as if there was no way it could possibly be untrue. Some people take violent threats to their safety and security so _personally_, it's disgusting. He'd pinned Isobel down and spelled out the terms, that was all. No need to go attaching emotional meaning to every word that came out of his mouth in the process.

Because he's not, in fact, in love with Elena.

He's not in love with Katharine, either, in case anyone was wondering. He _was_ in love with her, was totally and absolutely devoted to her. Damon fucking _tortured_ himself over her incarceration, imagining her pain and wanting so badly to get to her, to help her, to hold her and tell her that he was there now, they were together. Yes, he'd strayed, but not with anyone important. And, as it turned out, that hardly mattered, did it? Because she didn't even want him anyway.

Damon hops down from his perch, letting his hands slide over the rough stone. He's not a fan of pain, but sometimes it's interesting to let himself feel it in small doses. He needs to feel it tonight, to remember that even doe-eyed girls can hide razorblades in their actions. Especially women who begin with the best of intentions; they possess the ability to inflict untold amounts of damage. Worlds end over innocents playing with matches and unknowingly lighting fires. Damon isn't interested in being incinerated, a casualty of the one game he's not willing to play (again).

He turns to go, satisfied that he's escaped entanglement yet again when Elena's light pops on, a dull golden glow against the blackness of the night. And curiosity sinks its hooks into him yet again, tugging him forward to the tree on her front lawn.

Damon finds her sitting at her desk, staring at her journal. She picks up a pen and places it against the page, then stares at her hand like it's a foreign object she doesn't quit know what to do with next. He's a little confused, to be honest, because he's been very privy to the details of her life lately, and if he's got plenty to say on the subject, she should too. He's about to chalk it up to overdramatized teen angst (she's prone to it, he knows), when Elena sighs, tilting her head to one side, biting her lip, then looking to her reflection.

And his breath hitches, because that move is all Katherine.

Stefan wants to deny this correlation as much as he can, but Damon never saw the point in understating this undeniable truth. It was part of what made him want to fuck with his brother in the first place, seeing him romance a carbon copy of their original True Love. The sad poetry of it was far too good, made better by Stefan's refusal to admit that when he looked at her, a part of him saw someone that wasn't there.

Damon wasn't afraid to admit it, wasn't afraid to compare. Elena was a softer, gentler, far less confident and self-assured version of his favorite vampiric mistress. Inferior in every department but her parallel looks—or so he told himself. Crouched against the cold outside her window, with a cramp steadily working its way up his leg, Damon found his heart twisting inside his chest.

He finds her genuine goodness intoxicating. She stepped forward to him once, boldly stripping off her protective necklace and daring him to compel her. And he hadn't, because her eyes told him everything he needed to know: that she understood his motives, even if she didn't agree with his actions. That she believed in doing the right thing. Damon had been very, very sure that eventually she would see things his way, but he'd thought, in that moment, that maybe he'd slowly begun to see things in hers.

Damon takes note of the orange tint bleeding into the hazy morning sky and jumps down lightly onto the lawn, wandering aimlessly away and letting this thoughts meander along with him.

This look, this flash in her eyes, it scares him. Elena is not Katherine, this he knows, but sometimes he catches glimpses of one behind the other, as if there is a darkness clawing its way to the surface of her skin. Damon wonders if they caused this, by interfering with her life and how things should have gone. He's too far in it now, much too deep to walk away. Stefan would, if he caught wind of this little interlude of subtle cruelty. His brother would sacrifice his own happiness—and drag Damon off with him—to give Elena back her innocence.

The trouble with that, Damon muses, is that she doesn't seem to want it back. At least, not all of it.

As he jogs up the steps to his own home, toward his own bed, Damon considers the possibility that Elena Gilbert is about to become far more complicated than he ever imagined.

And he has such a weakness for complicated women.

A/N: I have this in my profile, but I don't know how many people really read that. So, to recap: **I have noticed that people have a tendency to put me on story alert for things that I consider done.** Please note: if it says 'Complete,' unless it is "I Need You So Much Closer," I have no intention of adding more chapters. Your attention flatters me to no end, and I don't want you waiting for something that won't come. If I ever revisit something currently marked complete, it will be a companion piece, and I will note it in the description. Put me on Author Alert instead, or whatever it's called.


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